Page 11 of From Air

I pluck a spoon from the drawer for my potato-leek soup, which has one more minute in the microwave. “I’m parked where Will told me to park.”

“It’s snowing. You can’t park on the street.” He deposits his green Carhartt jacket on a coat hook.

I can’t get enough of Calvin in cargo pants and snug-fitting, long-sleeved T-shirts, but I’ll never tell him that. His ego runneth over all on its own.

“Help me out, Fitz. Offer the new girl more than doom and gloom. Try suggesting a way to keep me from getting towed. I believe the word is asolution.”

He retrieves a black cherry iced tea from the fridge. “Why are you talking like that?”

I blow at the garlic-and-thyme-filled steam while carrying my soup to the table. “Like what?”

He tips back the bottle of tea, eyeing me the whole time. “Slowly. Softly. Like you’re talking to a child.”

I grin just before cautiously sipping my soup. “I think Will and Maren expect me to fix you.”

His lips droop into a frown. It’s hard to keep my composure. Calvin Fitzgerald is the epitome of a brooding man. Taking him on as my pet project should be fun.

“Park in the driveway.” He gives me a toothy grin that’s a little frightening. “See? I just fixed myself. But if you want to take credit for it, go ahead.” Fitz sets his tea on the counter and pulls a white paper bag out of the fridge along with a jar of hot sauce. He peels back the paper around the half-eaten burrito, shakes sauce onto it, and shoves a bite into his mouth.

“I’m notallowedto park in the driveway.” I’m tempted to end my sentence with a “duh” instead of a period, but my mom would disapprove. Dead or alive.

“Will’s on shift until Wednesday, and Maren’s taking Professor Gray Balls to New York,” he mumbles over a mouthful of the burrito.

I slurp another sip of my hot soup before grabbing my keys and tucking my feet into my boots. “So we’ll be alone. That’s good. You can share your deepest secrets with me.” I slide my arms into my jacket.

“Fuck that.” Fitz saunters up the stairs with his burrito and hot sauce in one hand and his tea in the other as I head out into the cold.

Will said Missoula rarely receives this much snow all at once. There’s a mountain of it that’s already been plowed. It engulfs my legs past my knees, sucking my boot right off my leg when I open the door and climb into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, come on!” Holding the steering wheel for support, I lean sideways to fish my boot from the drift.

Shoving my foot back into it, I start my Jeep and press on the gas.

Nothing.

I switch to reverse.

Nothing.

It’s four-wheel drive. What’s the problem?

After several failed attempts, I trek toward the garage, curling my toes to keep from walking out of my boots. Four different shovels hang on the wall. I grab two that might work well.

I bail snow, fall on my ass twice, and come dangerously close to losing my fingers to frostbite. My toes are total goners. Yet, I’m sweating through my clothes.

After unearthing my Jeep and pulling it into the driveway, I drag the shovels back to the garage. My gaze snags on the upstairs window at the corner of the house.

Calvin’s watching me with his arms crossed. Has he been watching me the whole time?

“Asshole,” I mumble.

He grins as if he can read my lips.

Minutes later, Fitz descends the stairs while I tug at my boots and peel off my jacket in the entry. “You needed to pull a little farther to the right. I won’t be able to get past you in the morning.”

I huff, blowing my sweaty bangs out of my face. “What time do you leave?”

“Five.” He plops onto the sofa and kicks his bare feet onto the coffee table.

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